


(don't) delete the kisses

by wonderwhy



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I DONT MAKE THE RULES, Modern AU, also theres a lot of swearing sorry astrid swears a lot, i love(hate) it, one-night stand, this is a christmas present to me... from me, this is stupid and cringy and self-indulgent!!!! YEET
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-02-18 04:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13092567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderwhy/pseuds/wonderwhy
Summary: It was supposed to be a one-night stand. That's all. She wasn't supposed to see him again, and he wasn't supposed to be wearing that adorable Christmas jumper, and he wasn't supposed to be smiling that heart-wrenching smile that fills her with guilt and reminds her of the way she sprinted out of his apartment that morning with her coat thrown over her shoulder.The worst part is, she thinks to herself, as she kicks a piece of sludgy snow and picks at a loose thread in her scarf, is that she can't remember his name.He knows hers instantly.





	1. something akin to cowardice

**Author's Note:**

> hey hi this is honestly... something ridiculous i wrote just because i wanted to do something festive, and also, i wanted to write something easy-going and fun and not have to worry about little nitty-gritty things
> 
> happy christmas, my dudes

Astrid stares at the weak December sunlight, that strip of light that shines through the gap in the blinds and cuts across the room, across the messy bedsheets. Her jacket’s there, dangling over the bedpost at her feet. She lets her head flop back against the pillow when she realises that the rest of her clothes aren’t there, that they’re probably strewn all over the bedroom floor, and that’s going to make sneaking out quickly a lot more complicated than she needs it to be.

The person beside her grumbles in his sleep, and her eyes flick to his face, momentary panic rising up at the thought of him waking. He shifts onto his side, facing her, and as he does, he slings an arm over her waist. She seizes up, expecting his eyes to pop open any second, his face inches from hers, his arm warm and bare against her equally bare skin, and... and what the fuck is she going to say.

He doesn’t wake up. She relaxes, at least for now.

She should get up.

She told herself she’d be gone by now. She swore she’d wake up at the crack of dawn, slip out of the bed, sprint out the door, and be gone before either the guy or his very noisy cat could notice. She’s comfortable, though. The chill in the room makes her almost shiver and she snuggles a little bit further under the covers, a little bit closer to him. His arm shifts on her waist but other than that, he’s dead to the world. His breaths puff gently against the side of her neck and she tells herself she’ll pull away and get dressed in... a minute. Five minutes. 

The really annoying thing about her predicament is that he’s… she likes him. She didn’t set out last night for this to happen but it did and it’s pissing her off because of course someone like him has to pop up in her life right when she’s not looking for a relationship. Of course.

She set out last night because she was pissed off with her ex, because she found out that what she thought was a clean and solid break-up was actually weeks of him blatantly cheating on her with some black-haired goth girl he met at college. She went to that bar to get drunk and flirt with strangers and get clean (dirty, whatever). It’s something that Ruff’s been telling her to do ever since the breakup.

"The only thing break-ups are good for,” Ruff said last week through a mouth full of pizza, her feet kicked up on the couch the way she knows Astrid hates, “is getting to dress up and hoe about, trust me, I’ve done it, it’s _great_.” When Ruff received no reply, she reached over and clicked her fingers in Astrid’s face, yanking her pizza slice out of her hand. Astrid craned her neck, deliberately looking over the other girl’s shoulder to stare at the shitty movie on the TV, and Ruff said, very loudly, “Did you hear me? Astrid! You need to get _laid."_

Astrid snorted, shoving her away and making a grab for the whole pizza box, pushing herself to the other end of the couch. “Oh my God, enough, I do not need to get laid."

Ruff nodded almost sympathetically, taking another too-big bite of pizza and standing in front of her. "Uh huh," she said, "You do. You’re gonna be all high-strung now because of that dickhead-” 

"He’s not a dickhead, Ruff, it just wasn’t working out-"

"-and I’m telling you from personal experience, I know it works, you’ll feel a _lot_ better if you go and find someone new-"

"It’s about finding someone new, now?” Astrid pulled a face. “I thought it was about finding a random hot stranger to fuck, or something?” She craned her neck again, shuffling around on the couch in an effort to see the TV screen, “Because honestly, finding someone new isn’t exactly on my agenda right now, I only got out of a relationship a few weeks ago so no thanks, I’m good. Can you- move, you’re standing right in front of the screen."

"Are you saying you want to find a random hot stranger to fuck?" Ruff's eyes widened like tennis balls and she stopped chewing her pizza for a second or two. "Because I can help, I know the best places to-"

"What? No, that's not what I meant," Astrid laughed, wiping a hand over her face. "I don't  _need_ to go out and... get laid, like, I'm not a sex maniac unlike some people."

Ruff ignored the jab and pointed her pizza slice at Astrid instead, brandishing it inches from the poor girl's face. "Come on, you know you want to. I'll be your wingman! Woman. Wingwoman."

"Thanks, but I don't need a wingwoman," Astrid snorted and pushed her away, shaking her head and wishing Ruff could just drop it for once. She knows that's just Ruff’s weird way of caring for people, aggressively yelling advice in your face and jumping around and trying to get you to do things absurdly and dangerously out of your comfort zone. “I know you’re trying to help but I don’t need help, alright? I’m fine.”

Ruff picked up the garlic dip and fiddled with it, swaying on her feet and not moving from the middle of the room, where she was still blocking the TV. “Are you.... Absolutely, completely sure you don’t want a relationship right now?” She tapped the lid of the dip, jittery, her mouth twisting as if she was holding in a grin. "You're one hundred per cent sure?"

Astrid squinted at her. The girl looked like she was going to burst. "Where is this going."

Ruff took a step towards her, a smile spreading across her face. "Where is this going, you ask? _Well."_   The scarily excited expression on her face made Astrid regret even asking. "There… is a _guy…" she_  mock-gasped at Astrid, who only stared blankly, pursing her lips. Ruff threw her arms in the air, flicking her long braids over her shoulder, declaring, "... a guy in my _Art course_ -"

“Absolutely not.”

Ruff deflated so drastically it almost made Astrid feel bad. Almost. " _Aw,_ come on, you're only saying that 'cause he's an Art student."

"What, no, that’s not..." Astrid groaned and set her chin in her hands, slouching and staring at the floor. "I really don’t want to be set up with anyone right now. At all."

"But you didn't even let me finish!" Ruff jumped down beside her and shook her shoulders. "I haven’t even told you about him! He’s exactly your weird type, like, tall and gangly and he wears those baggy sweaters you’re obsessed with-"

"I don’t wanna hear it."

"-and he’s really nice okay you’ve so much in common and you would be such a cute couple please _please_ -"

Astrid covered her ears, elbowing Ruff and squirming away as she did so, "Nope! I'm not listening! I don’t wanna know! I am fine as I am, thanks!"

"But you could be _soulmates,”"_ Ruff sang, shaking her fist in the air so violently she nearly tumbled off the couch, "Listen to your heart, Astrid, it’s telling you to stop being a fucking sissy and take a _chance!"_

"Sissy? Are we twelve?"

"She’s right." Astrid abruptly twisted in her seat, looking up at Tuff, who’d appeared out of thin air, apparently, and was leaning against the wall beside the door behind them, nodding in that wise way he does even though half the time nobody ever has a fucking clue what he’s on about. "You," he said, and he pointed a finger right in Astrid’s face. He bopped her on the nose. She blinked. "Need to let _loose."_

"When did you get here? Did you know he was here?" Astrid laughed in disbelief, leaning forward to peer behind him to check there wasn’t an ensemble of people in her dorm she didn’t know about. "Have you been here the whole- have you been listening to all this?" She sniffed, then. “And is that... Fucks sake, Tuff, no weed in the dorm- how many  _times..."_

Tuff slouched over to the couch, flopping down and kicking his dirty boots onto it, ignoring Astrid’s swats and protests. "I think," he began, and then Astrid groaned and punched a cushion and snapped, "Is this Analyse Astrid Class?"

"I think," Tuff repeated, closing his eyes and nodding again. He was so very clearly stoned that Ruff started chortling behind him. "That you, my friend, are just… too scared."

Astrid bristled.

"Too scared of commitment," he wagged a finger at her, blinking his eyes open for a second to stare seriously at her, or as seriously as you can take him anyway. "Too scared to fall for someone, to scared of _love."_

"Don’t be so dramatic."

"And I want to ask myself… Who is this? This is not Astrid Hofferson! Astrid doesn’t get _scared!_ Pah! Astrid is a… a fighter! A warrior!"

"Jesus- are you done?"

"You need to be brave, like you used to be."

He put his arms behind his head and smiled as if he’d just fixed all her problems even though he’d only left her confused and very pissed off. She glared at him and glanced at Ruff to see what she was making of all this, but the other girl just looked like she wanted to laugh. She stepped behind her brother and yanked at his ratty ponytail, letting a grin form on her face. "Basically, he agrees with me and thinks you should let me set you up with this artsy fartsy guy."

"He literally never said that.” Astrid snapped. “He does not agree with you.”

"Yes I do."

"Shut up, Tuff."

"Okay."

"Just give it a chance, Astrid, please, _please,”_ Ruff let go of Tuff’s dreads so she could clasp her hands together, pouting down at the stony face that was Astrid's, "I know you’ll like him, you guys would be perfect together-"

"I’m not- I don’t want a relationship right now!" Astrid stood up, grabbing the pizza box and shoving a slice into her mouth with too much force. "I know you’re trying to help but just fucking _drop it.”"_ She pushed her room door open with her hip and tried not to think too hard about what Tuff said, about her being scared in a way she never used to be. "I have to study now."

"Pfft, you do not," Ruff rolled her whole body when she rolled her eyes, tipping her head back dramatically, "Come back, I want more pizza."

"My roommates will be back soon, so... see yourselves out," she wiggled her fingers at them as she slowly closed the door, "See you tomorrow, maybe. Bye."

And then she got into bed and ate the rest of the large margarita and thought about commitment and love and relationships until she felt sick.

She had to keep reminding herself of the relief she felt when she and her boyfriend broke up. It was… freeing. It was finally untangling a knot that’d been stuck in her hair for way too long without her realising. Relationships were such a _chore,_ so demanding and tiring, the negative aspects outweighing the positive ones and... then again, maybe that was just her last relationship, maybe he was just a boring guy and they weren’t on the same wavelength and neither of them tried hard enough. Maybe it’s different when you’re with the right person, she thought. But she didn’t know. She didn’t know shit about relationships, honestly, and maybe that’s what was scaring… not scaring, but at least _intimidating_ her about this whole thing. Her lack of knowledge when she was usually so sure about everything else.

And then there was that terrible Ruff advice, the go-out-and-get-fucked advice. As if she needed _that,_ Astrid thought, glaring at her pizza. She wasn’t that much of a mess. She wasn’t a mess at all, actually, she was perfectly fine after the breakup, weirdly unaffected by it, which probably shows just how meaningless the whole relationship even was.

She didn’t feel like she needed to go out and… get a fresh start, or get clean, or whatever it was.

And then a week later, the last day of the semester, she saw some pictures on Facebook and pieced together some horrible clues she never properly noticed and suddenly she was blindingly, utterly enraged at the fact that… no wonder the relationship had been stale, he was only half in it, and the other half of him with some other girl from some other school who had somehow upstaged her.

Ruff’s advice suddenly seemed very appealing. Get fucked, get out, get any traces left of him off her. Throw out that t-shirt that he left in her bedroom and forgot to take back. She made her decision in seconds, stuffing her phone into her pocket and practically _stomping_ all the way to her dorm, kicking sludgy, grey Berkian snow at every opportunity. She got changed, she braided her hair, she bothered with a bit of eyeliner, she made herself look _good,_ good and determined and confident the way she used to present herself, and as she looked in the mirror she wondered when she got lazy.

She headed to some bar she’d never been to, in some other part of town, and went from there. And she ended up here.

In some stranger’s bed, with her things all over the room, and his body curling around her, and her neck slightly cramping. Her leg itches and she peeks under the covers, seeing that his dark jeans are still on him and they’re chafing against her slightly sweat-sticky thigh. She remembers that he never took them off last night, and when she yanked at the denim so that he’d get the message that he should be just as naked as she was, he started kissing all over her and ultimately distracting her.

She should get up. It’s not even comfortable anymore, she’s cramping in all sorts of places and she’s in desperate need of a really long, hot shower.

She idly picks at a thread on the duvet as she turns her head towards him, and her heart starts going crazy in her chest as if it has any right to do that just because she finds him cute. Very cute. She remembers kissing those freckled cheeks last night, running her hands in his soft and messy hair, running her mouth along his sharp collarbones. She stares at his eyelashes because she can, because he’s asleep and doesn’t need to know she’s been ogling him. It would be easy to inch closer and kiss his nose. He’d wake up and blink his eyes open - she forgets what colour they are, but she knows they’re pretty - and he’d smile that very crooked, very cute smile he kept giving her yesterday. She almost does it, because he’s so close and it would be so easy and they’re practically tangled around each other.

But that screams _relationship._ And she reminds herself she doesn’t want it, that she’s not going to impulsively kiss a stranger just because it’s the easy thing to do, the thing that feels nice, straightforward, simple.

She doesn’t need it. Or doesn’t want it, whatever. This was just… this was a one-time thing, something that she needed, and this guy just happened to be the one she landed on. And she’s going to get up and never see him again and they’ll part ways and it’ll be fine. She won’t think about his freckles or his pretty eyes again. Or his smile. Or how nice it felt last night when he was wearing that soft, baggy jumper and wrapped his arms around her and kissed her for the first time, slowly and sweetly, smoothing his hands over her back and making her shiver through the many layers of clothes. She’s not going to think about him at all, his name isn’t even going to pop into her head.

His name… his _name._ She’s forgotten his fucking name.

Huh. Maybe getting over this will be easier than she thinks.

Astrid’s just thinking that to herself when a phone starts ringing, and she nearly jumps out of her skin at the suddenness of it. She’s instantly alert, moving the guy’s arm off her waist and rolling out of the bed swiftly, as the phone vibrates loudly against the wooden floor. The guy moans in his sleep, curling his arm back into his chest at the absence of her. She drops to the floor, hiding herself, and starts scrabbling through the piles of clothes for the phone, and is it just her imagination or is it ringing _louder?_ She lifts up the guy’s shirt, but it’s not under there, and then she lifts up her skirt, but it’s not there either, and she scrambles for her handbag, wondering where the _hell_ she left it, and then… then it stops ringing.

Breathe. Don’t make a sound. She inches off the floor, slowly peaks over the edge of the bed, bracing herself because she knows she’s going to find the guy staring back at her and they’re going to have to confront the fact that they’re two strangers and she’s naked and they had sex last night. But his eyes… are closed. He’s still fast asleep, his mouth hanging open a bit, and his hair sticking up all over the place, and she almost laughs out loud out of sheer relief. He sleeps like a fucking rock, apparently.

She lowers herself to the floor again, clearing her head, trying to focus on where her phone could be. She lifts up the duvet, which is half hanging off the bed onto the floor, and then she peeks under the bed. Bingo. She shoves her hand under the bed, pushes past a couple of shoe boxes and some pencils, and quickly grabs the phone before extracting herself from under there. Next step: find her clothes. She flushes a bit when she realises they literally _are_ all over the room, his and hers tangled together, some garments dangling off the end of the bed, some lying on the floor on the other side of the room. The phone vibrates in her hand and she nearly shrieks and drops it, fumbling with the device until she sees the name on the screen.

"Hey, Ruff," Astrid whispers, voice slightly hoarse. She coughs quietly as she starts making her way to the other side of the room on her tippy toes, picking up her bra on the way, which is hooked around the handle of his wardrobe. Ruffnut starts talking immediately, not that Astrid can hear it, because she’s holding the phone as far away from her ear as possible. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and sees the image of herself tiptoeing, stark naked, across the room with a bra in one hand and phone in the other, her arms spread out wide to keep her balance— it’s a squeaky floor, she has to choose where she’s stepping very wisely.

The guy in the bed makes a noise, one that sounds to her like an about-to-wake-up noise, so she takes a chance and runs across the room and pulls open the bathroom door. Once inside, she leans against the wall and presses the phone to her ear.

"—and it’s like, perfect because I told him to get that _exact_ one, but it’s gonna go to waste if you don’t—"

" _Ruff,_ ” she hisses, as she starts trying to brush her hair back with one hand. It’s not working. "Why are you calling me?"

"Oh, and I found that sweater! The really tacky purple one, you know, turns out it was in behind the couch- I also found some weird bread back there-"

Astrid lowers the volume, puts the phone on the sink counter, and starts putting on her bra, since she has absolutely no other items of clothing at that very moment. She pulls a hair-tie off her wrist and attempts to pull her hair back, and it’s probably the ugliest, greasiest ponytail she’s ever attempted but it’ll do. Then she’s opening the cupboard and looking for his toothpaste and swivelling some around in her mouth. She’s surprised at how tidy the bathroom is, everything in its place, unlike his bedroom. Not that the bedroom is bad, though, it’s a mess but a sort of comforting one, full of books and drawings and pencils and weird little notes all over his wall.

She peeks through the crack in the doorway. He’s still asleep, _how_ is he still asleep.

"Ruff," the phone is back at her ear. She's whispering and it’s more a breath than a voice. "Why are you calling me. What is it."

"Why are you whispering?" Ruff practically cackles on the other end, so loud in her ear Astrid flinches. "Astrid? Hello? Astrid? Where are you? Can you hear me?”

"I can hear you," she snaps, still whispering, so it doesn’t hold as much fire as it usually does.

"Why are you whispering?"

Ruff actually goes silent, waiting for an answer. Astrid stares through the crack in the doorway, gritting her teeth, struggling for an answer.

"I’m at the library."

A beat.

"You’re at the library," Ruff repeats. Astrid risks pushing the bathroom door open, and tiptoes out as quietly as she can. "Uh, you know exams finished yesterday, right? Is your head okay."

Fuck. Astrid nearly trips on one of the guy’s boots, lying on its side in the shadows cast by the bed. She sees her denim skirt and makes a grab for it and yanks it on one-handed, which isn’t an easy task in itself and it’s even worse when you’re trying to be deathly quiet. “Returning books,” Astrid whispers into the phone. She tries to ignore how uncomfortable the denim is with no underwear. "Why are you calling me?"

"Oh, just making sure you haven’t forgotten about today."

Astrid pauses as she’s tiptoeing past the bed, where she’s seen her shirt lying in a heap beside his jacket. "Today?"

"My Christmas party, duh.” Shitting fuck. Fucking _shit. "_ You haven’t forgotten, have you? Because I swear to God-"

"What? No, no I haven’t forgotten," Astrid laughs as quietly as she possibly can. She puts the phone on the floor for a second as she pulls her shirt over her head, and almost sighs in relief when she notices her panties out of the corner of her eye. She was worried they’d be left as some sort of souvenir. "That’s… Yeah that’s today, I haven’t forgotten. I’ve even got Christmas muffins ready and everything." Why did she say that. Why.

She gathers up the rest of her stuff as Ruff talks her ear off, and when she’s gotten all of her clothes at least _half_ on, she slips put the bedroom door, blissfully unnoticed, and the guy sleeps on, oblivious.

Something furry brushes her shin and nearly squeals, jumping back and staring at her attacker. It’s that black cat again, the one with all the missing teeth and only three legs. It blinks up at her, meows.

"Shh, shut up! Stop it!" She edges her way around, grimacing when it rubs its head against her leg again. She’s not a cat person. And it won’t stop making noise, going from soft purrs to loud hissing when she kicks her leg at it. " _Shh!_ Shut up! Stop- no, that’s my shoe, _stop it"_

It takes her about ten minutes to make her way to the front door, and the whole time she’s shooing away the cat and holding her coat in the air so it can’t get to it.

"What’s going on over there?" Ruff laughs, just as Astrid’s finally gotten the door half-open. She hears a noise from the bedroom, a thump that sounds like someone falling out of bed. The cat turns its head to the sound instantly, and starts running towards it with a high-pitched yowl.

Astrid yanks the door shut and makes a run for it.

"What the hell are you doing over there?" Ruff’s full on laughing at her as she sprints down the stairs, whizzing round a corner, shouting a quick " _S_ _orry!”_ over her shoulder when she nearly knocks the books out of someone’s hands. "Are you getting chased out of the library? Oooh, Astrid, what did you _do."_

“It’s just-” She’s out of breath as she reaches the end of the stairs, and when she pushes the front door open she accidentally throws herself into it, whacking her arm. “ _Fuck,_ ow _._ It’s just a-” she wheezes, and doubles over as soon as she gets outside, taking a risky moment to put her hands on her knees and catch her breath. “Just- a cat. A cat chased me… down the street?”

“A cat chased you? Nice. Was it like, trying to attack you, because I’ve still got that cat bite on my leg from last summer and it looks awesome-”

“Listen- what time am I heading over at?” She pushes her sweaty bangs from her face as she says it, glancing up at the lines of windows on the building and half wondering if he’s woken up, if he’s leaning against the glass and watching her walk of shame. She looks away because there are too many windows, and she doesn’t know what she’d do if she saw his face peering out at her, anyway.

“Literally, now.”

“ _Now?_ It’s only-” she pulls her phone from her ear quickly to check, “-half eight in the morning.”

“Wait, doesn’t the library only open at nine-”

“I’ll come at six.” Astrid blurts. “Or seven? Or whenever everyone else shows up, I still need to wrap your present.” She reaches a bus stop and pauses for a minute, trying to get her bearings. It snowed last night. It’s still fresh and white, untainted by rain or cars or people’s boots. Astrid shoves some around with her boot, pulls her coat closer as she shivers. She… “Shit! I left my scarf there!”

“You always leave your shit at the library, how’s that surprising.” Ruff laughs, not realising how dire the situation is, that that’s Astrid’s _favourite_ winter scarf and now it’s stuck in some stranger’s apartment and she’s never going to get it back.

She could. Turn around, walk up those stairs, knock on the door, see his face fall as he looks at her. _“Hey, I know I sneaked out on you while you were sleeping, sorry about that, but can I just grab my scarf real quick?”_

There’s suddenly a twisting feeling in her gut that feels too much like guilt. Which she doesn’t need. Because she doesn’t owe him anything, she doesn’t even know him, she can’t even remember his name. And she’s sure he’s forgotten hers, too.

“I’m gonna go,” Astrid says. “I’ve got stuff to do, and I’m at the bus stop right now, so…”

“Okay, okay, you gotta go make those Christmas cakes, got it.” There’s a bus at the end of the street and Astrid reaches for her purse. “Don’t be late for this! And my present better be good.”

“My bus is here, gotta go!” Astrid calls into the phone before throwing it in her handbag. When she pulls on her coat it feels semi-exposing without her scarf.

When she's settled on the bus, she really doesn’t mean to stare out the window as they drive past the apartment building, but she does, and that weird, guilty feeling is back. There’s some cheesy Christmas music playing on the radio that does little to lift her mood as she thinks about what she’s done. She told herself it's nothing wrong, that it was just a fling and they’ll both get over it, but it… it wasn’t just a fling, was it? For some reason, it felt like more than that. It was like she found someone who was finally on her wavelength.

And the whole situation is different if she thinks of it as a… as a glaring _problem_ that she’s choosing to run away from.

Astrid doesn’t do that. It’s not her. She faces everything head on and doesn’t turn away a challenge. She gets shit done when it needs to be done, she pushes her way through her problems instead of letting them simmer. She doesn’t run away from the fray, she runs right into it, fearless.

Fearless. That’s not what this is, curling her legs up on a bus that drives her further and further away from him. It’s something more akin to cowardice, honestly, and that’s hard for her to admit.

It doesn't matter though. She can push this all behind her, keep it to herself, and never see that guy's smile ever again. Or her scarf. Dammit.  

 


	2. laugh until you forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she'll meet hiccup soon, okay. soon. just hang in there.  
> (i love this chapter and i love astrid, and she should stop beating herself up and let me hug her)

“They’re burnt.”

“Hello to you too.”

Astrid balances on the doorstep with her hair freshly washed and braided, her arms full of heavy bags, her leg sticking out at a awkward angle to keep the front door from swinging shut on her. Ruff’s frozen on the spot on the welcome rug, staring forlornly at the lunchbox full of half-black muffins that were thrust into her hands the second the door opened. Astrid stares expectantly at her. “Little help?”

“You… burnt them, Astrid. I can’t believe you’ve done this.”

Ruff shakes the lunchbox at her and Astrid rolls her eyes, taking a step into the hallway and shoving past her. “At least I brought something,” she huffs, as she heaves her bags onto the kitchen counter. It’s littered with dirty plates, sweet wrappers, a ransacked Christmas selection box. The remains of Chinese takeout. A couple of crushed up cans. “And this place is a tip.”

“You know, if you were just gonna burn the food, you shouldn’t have bothered bringing it,” says Ruff, even as she bites into one. “This is gross. I’m gonna eat the whole batch.”

“I also brought vodka.”

“Oh, goodie, something you can’t burn.”

Astrid swats her on the arm, a little less firm than she’d like it to be, but in fairness, she’s been feeling off and slightly sluggish all day. “Seriously, this place needs some major cleaning, it’s disgusting. There’s a massive pile of dishes there, and there’s food everywhere…”

She trails off and glares at the other girl, who’s taken the bottle of vodka out of Astrid’s bag and is slowly and guiltily unscrewing it. “What?” Ruff hugs the bottle to her chest almost protectively. “Can we not clean the house, like… after we do shots?”

“No.”  

Shoving a pair of yellow rubber gloves on and cleaning the entirety of the Thorstons’ house wasn’t exactly how Astrid pictured herself spending the first weekend of winter break, but she reminds herself, as she shoves a plunger down the toilet in the downstairs bathroom and scrubs with all the elbow grease she can muster, that she hadn’t been expecting to spend that weekend sleeping with (and acquiring a small, inconvenient crush on) a stranger, either, so maybe this is supposed to be a week of spontaneity.

Though, she shouldn’t be this surprised that Ruff threw this on her. She’s convinced that the twins make it their _mission_ to completely trash the house every time their parents are out of town, just for fun. She doesn’t get it. It’s chaotic. And chaotic is not Astrid, the same way that organised is not the twins.

Sometimes, Astrid forgets that Ruff is her brother’s twin first and foremost, and Astrid’s slightly-begrudging best friend second.

“Did you only want me to come over early so I’d help with the cleaning?” Astrid pokes her head out the bathroom door, waving the toilet plunger at Ruff, who’s dragging the vacuum cleaner down the hallway.

Ruff snorts and grins. “Maybe.”

Astrid mimes whacking her with the toilet plunger, only half-joking.

“You need to get your act together,” she says seriously, even though Ruff’s walking into the kitchen and most likely ignoring her now, which is what she likes to do when Astrid gets her Serious Voice on. “You have to start cleaning up after yourself, and sorting out your shit, you can’t always rely on—”

Her voice is drowned out by the roar of the vacuum cleaner.   

They make their way through all the rooms with sweeping brushes, dirty rags, multi-purpose cleaning spray, air fresheners. The piles of laundry that litter the floors are sorted out in under twenty minutes, to which Ruff whoops and applauds and says, “See, _this_ is why I needed you to help me, you’re a domestic goddess. If I had to do that alone it would take me, like, five days,” and Astrid flushes and curls her hand into a fist around the brush she’s holding, and reminds Ruff that, first of all, she can’t cook for shit so domestic goddess is ruled out, and second, there’s no way she would even _want_ to be or could ever possibly be a _domestic fucking goddess._ At some point, Ruff puts on very loud, slightly shit music. And Tuffnut yells down at her from the top of the stairs, claiming his ears are bleeding. She yells at him for not helping them clean up, he yells back in astonishment with, “wait, we’re _cleaning up?”,_ and then he’s kicked out of the house to go get baking supplies from the store.

“I thought we were going to the store?” Astrid asks, propping herself on the cleared, freshly wiped countertop.

“Nope.” Ruff thrusts a glass full of cola into Astrid’s hands. Astrid stares at it quizzingly. Ruff holds up her own glass and clinks them together. “We, my friend, are going to get _bojangled.”_

“Bojangled?” Astrid can feel her mouth quirking, not quite a laugh but almost there.

“Bojangled. Locked. Pissed. Drunk. _”_ Ruff climbs on top of the countertop next to her, nearly spilling her glass all over Astrid’s lap before Astrid grabs it off her. “We need to get into the Christmas spirit!”

“By getting drunk?”

“By getting drunk and wearing elf hats and dancing to Christmas music!” Ruff takes a swig, and pokes Astrid to make her do the same. Astrid takes a sip. “And you’re being all weird and grumpy, and I’ve barely seen you all week because of finals, so we need to have some fun. You never have any fun.”

“I can have fun,” Astrid says into her glass, watching the bubbles fizz in her drink.

“Come on, then. Loosen up a bit,” Ruff shakes her arm, but Astrid just sighs into her glass. Ruff takes another swig before she turns fully to Astrid, pulling her legs up on the countertop and crossing them, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “What’s up?”

She didn’t think anything _was_ up, but once Ruff asks the question, Astrid realises how messed up she’s feeling. And would telling Ruff help? Would venting help? She clacks her teeth against the glass as she mulls it over, thinking of the lousy and deserted feeling of being cheated on, thinking of how deceived and stupid, stupid, _stupid_ she felt when she walked out of her last exam and saw those pictures on facebook and realised the truth.

Thinking of new people, of beginnings that could have been, of chances that she ruined when she ran out of an apartment with her coat over her shoulder and her scarf abandoned.

“Just… thinking of my exams,” Astrid lies into her cola. “They went well, I think, but… I don’t know, I could have studied a bit more—”

“Seriously?” Astrid doesn’t look at her, but she can sense her tense up. “You’re worried about your grades, are you kidding? Studying is literally all you do.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’re going to get perfect grades like you always do, you don’t need to, like, _brood_ over it.” Ruff shakes her head and takes another drink, this time straight from the bottle. She crunches up her face as she swallows. “Like… can we _not_ talk about exams, please, thanks.”

Astrid sits up straighter, raising her brows as Ruff frowns at the floor. She kicks her foot out and pokes one of the stools. She doesn’t look at Astrid.

“Uh, okay?” Astrid says. “Why?”

“I don’t wanna talk about my grades with _you_ , of all people, Astrid.”

Astrid bristles. “What?” she says, and Ruff takes another drink. “Regan.”

Ruff jerks away from her, swinging the glass bottle at her face, nearly falling off the edge of the counter. “Fucking— don’t _Regan_ me!” Astrid’s known Ruff since they were kids, and she knows that the one thing Ruff hates most in the world is getting called by her real name.

"Don’t call me Regan, nobody calls me that, and if you call me that I’ll shove my feet into your face,” she’d said when they were nine, and Astrid had just moved to the school.

"So what am I supposed to call you then?” Astrid had said, completely unfazed by the girl’s threats, because nine-year-old Astrid did karate lessons every Saturday and was perfectly capable of winning any fight with her tiny fists. “The teacher called you Regan.”

"I’m Ruff,” she’d said proudly, and then she’d pointed across the playground to where another version of her was digging a hole in the grass. “And he’s Tuff. We’re twins, so we can control each other’s brains, isn't that  _cool."_

Nowadays, Astrid only uses the _Regan_ on her when she wants to piss her off. It works every time.

“ _Assface._ ” Ruff snarls, now, jumping off the counter and taking the vodka bottle with her.

Astrid snorts and rolls her eyes, because Assface was the nickname Ruff came up with for Astrid shortly after they became friends, and Astrid had responded by promptly knocking one of Ruff’s wobbly teeth out. It doesn’t piss heroff anymore, it just makes her laugh.

“Why don’t you want to talk about your exams?” Astrid asks. “Were they that shit?”

“I like how the first thing you assume is that I did shit.”

“I—” Astrid bites her tongue, because it’s true. “Ugh. Sorry.”

Ruff shrugs. “It’s whatever. You’re right, they were shit. I didn’t study enough and whenever I did I’d just, I don’t know, get distracted.”

“Have you tried—”

“Don’t give me advice, I didn’t ask,” Ruff snaps. Astrid tries not to snap back. She purses her lips and waits for Ruff to speak, instead. “It’s just— it’s annoying how I’m always doing badly and never focusing enough and like, you just, you always have your shit sorted out and do so well in everything like it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

It’s kind of true. Astrid knows that she’s always got her head screwed on, she’s always focused. When she aims high she works hard until she can get there. She taps her fingers against the countertop and reminds herself that not everyone’s the same and she can’t dole out advice like she always tries to do, because a lot of the time, nobody’s asking for it. Sometimes what's supposed to be helpful just comes across as patronizing.

Ruff functions differently to her, everyone functions differently.  “Okay.” Astrid says. “Yeah, no, let’s… forget about school, we’re on a break.” She lifts her glass to her lips and takes a proper gulp, feeling the burn down her throat.

Ruff scratches her head, looking around a little bit frenzied, which is odd enough on its own. Ruff doesn’t usually care enough about things to get frenzied. “I’m just— I’m really stressed out, okay. I kinda want to just have fun tonight and not think about grades or responsibilities or anything.”

Astrid hears the front door open down the hall, Tuff’s voice drifting down as he mutters loudly to himself, something insulting about the man at the cash register. “Yeah. I get it, let’s just have fun,” Astrid nods. She hops off the counter and takes another drink, hoping she’ll start to feel fuzzy soon. “Forget it, let’s… let’s just bake some muffins or something.”

Tuff bursts through the kitchen door, panting, and throws the shopping bags onto the counter with a groan.

“Your shopping list,” he points accusingly at them both, even though Ruff is the one who wrote the bizarrely long list and Astrid made sure she had nothing to do with it, “was… there was so much stuff on it? Why do you need so much stuff? Who needs _this_ much chocolate?”

“We do!” Ruff shoves him out of the way, back to herself, wiggling her fingers in the air as she surveys the food on the table. “We’re gonna make so many cakes and muffins, oh my God, _so many._ Nobody’s gonna go hungry tonight. We’ll be so full we’ll explode and Mom will come home and have to scrape our guts off the walls.”

“Awesome,” says Tuff.

Ruff opens up one of the bags and starts piling its contents onto the counter: eggs, milk, chocolate, flour, icing sugar, chocolate, more chocolate, even a tub of hot cocoa powder. Astrid, somehow, starts thinking of last night; it’s been popping up in her head all day, always ill-timed, always bothersome. Something… something about hot cocoa—

They made a joke about it. They were lying in the bed exhausted and sticky and they were talking about waking up the next morning and making breakfast. She said she’d need coffee. He said coffee was vile. They argued about it, laughing, still giggly, still red-faced. They agreed they’d make hot cocoa in the morning instead, something they could both agree on.

She wonders if he made himself some when he woke up. Shared it with his cat. Maybe he wrapped her scarf around him, too, for the hell of it.

“Astrid?”

She blinks herself out of her daze. Tuff has his elbows on the counter, and he’s squinting at her. “Ruff,” he says, “I think she’s brooding over something.”

“Is she?” Ruff puts down the carton of eggs and looks up at Astrid, too. Having both of the Thorston twins stare at you in that analysing way is the opposite of comfortable. “Oh, she is, she looks all sad and grumpy again.”

Astrid glares at them for a second, before sighing and sitting down, crossing her arms on the counter. “I’m fine. Just thinking about stuff.”

“What stuff?” Ruff asks, and to anyone who doesn’t know her, she’d sound insensitive and uninterested, but underneath Ruff’s drawl Astrid knows there’s concern. “Here, drink more vodka and vent about it.”

“Nah, it’s…” Astrid laughs, shrugs a shoulder. She reaches underneath the counter, pulling out a large bowl for the cake mix. “It’s nothing important,” she plonks the bowl onto the counter and grabs the bag of flour, “and you won’t wanna hear it.”

Ruff tilts her head. “Oh, school stuff?”

“Yeah,” says Astrid, as she thinks of his smile again, the way he looked at her when he laughed, the way he curled his arm so gently around her waist and pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head like they were pretending it wasn’t a fling. “Just school stuff.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes, when you’ve drunk too much and it’s gotten to your head, and you’re feeling hazy and relaxed like nothing that happens could be in anyway significant, you find yourself saying things you were planning on not saying. Astrid wasn’t planning on talking about _what happened,_ she was planning on keeping it shut in her chest where it would hopefully disintegrate and be forgotten— but there’s a slight buzz is in her veins and she’s sprawled on the couch and a moment ago, Ruff asked if she was okay. If there was anything she wanted to talk about. Apparently, Astrid isn’t very good at hiding her feelings like she thought she was.

The fairy lights flicker and blur when Astrid shakes her head. She lifts herself onto her elbows, feeling too heavy. She needs a glass of water. She needs— 

Talk about it, she thinks. Don’t close yourself off.

“Eret was cheating on me.”

Ruff’s setting up plates on the coffee table, piling cakes and muffins and cookies onto them with gusto, all of them heavily and ridiculously decorated in festive icing of green and red. She’s changed into a Christmas sweater, the tacky purple one she found behind the sofa that morning— there’s a Rudolph nose on the front of it that lights up and casts a red glow over the coffee table. Astrid hugs her own oversized sweater around herself, burying her chin into the red wool. Ruff just glances up at her. “What was that?”

Astrid says, louder this time, “Eret was cheating on me.”

Ruff stops short. She drops whatever cake she had in her hand. “No… you’re serious?” Astrid nods once and then Ruff is there, standing, a hand at her face and looking furious and more drunk than Astrid is. “That… that _asshole!_ That prick! I knew it, I knew he—” she hiccoughed once, “I knew he was bad news! I’ll fuckin’…”

She whirls on Astrid, her hands twitching like she wants to claw at someone. Claw at Eret, claw at the person she used to like so much, way back when.

“How do you know? When… how did you find out, I mean,” another hiccough, then, “When did this happen?”

“I saw pictures on his Facebook, he…” Astrid presses a hand to her forehead, and suddenly her eyes hurt. “That girl he’s dating? Yeah, he’s been seeing for ages. _Ages._ Like, the majority of our relationship, ages.”

“Jesus… that fuckin’… that weird goth chick? With the— the black hair?”

“She’s actually nice, I mean—” she doesn’t know why she feels defensive of her, of the girl who was part of this secret operation that was going on behind her back, but it doesn’t seem fair to blame it on her when Eret’s the one who made it happen. “I met her that one time and she was—”

“Who cares if she’s nice!” Ruff looks frenetic, red—faced. She kicks the side of the couch. “He cheated on you! For weeks! He was seeing that girl behind your back _for weeks!”_

“I know,” Astrid snaps.

“Get angry with me!”

“I _did_ get angry, when I found out. I almost trashed my whole dorm.” She lets her head fall forward. Lets out a long breath. “I’m kind of done being angry over it, it’s pointless. I mean, we broke up weeks ago anyway.”

Ruff still looks murderous, her face contorting, her mouth snarling. But she deflates. She lets herself fall onto the opposite couch, laying back and shaking her head in that over-exaggerated way drunk people act. “I should’ve—” _hiccough,_ “stopped you from dating him, I knew what he was like but I just—”

“It’s done now.”

“I know, but. Ugh.” Ruff lifts her head up and frowns at her from across the room. “And when… when did you say you found out?”

“Yesterday. Just after walking out of the exam hall.” Then Astrid’s face crumples.

“Jesus. That’s… that’s a really shitty way to start off winter break, I’ll be honest.”

Astrid snorts, and it sounds watery. “Tell me about it.”

“Do you need to drunk-cry? Because you totally can, go ahead.”

“I don’t cry,” Astrid sniffs. “Ugh, the fucking vodka…” she wipes her eyes, because they shouldn’t be wet over something like this, it’s not worth getting worked up over it and wet eyes aren’t going to make her feel better. “I’m fine. I’m over it.”

“You don’t look like you’re over it.”

“You’re too drunk to even see me properly.”

Ruff laughs, shoulders shaking too much. “Yeah, that’s true.” She waits as Astrid blinks her eyes back to dryness, neither of them saying anything for a moment. Ruff checks her phone. “People are gonna arrive soon.”

“Yeah.” Astrid sits up slowly, her head still feeling heavy and cloudy. Her throat still feeling tight. “I need— I need some water.”

“Are you, like... sure you’re okay?” Ruff asks a bit hesitantly as she follows Astrid to the kitchen, watching as Astrid fills up the biggest glass she can find. “Because you look all teary and I didn’t think… I didn’t think you cared enough about him to like… you should be angry but not…” Ruff groans. She flops against the wall, thumps her head against it. “I don’t know, I _am_ too drunk for this, I don’t even, _hiccough,_ I don’t even know what I’m saying.”

“No, I know what you mean.” Astrid gulps down half the glass before she speaks again, feeling slightly more refreshed and collected, just slightly. “I’m not upset over him, really. I’m just… it feels so _shitty.”_

“What does?”

“ _This._ Being cheated on. I just… I feel so stupid _,”_ she laughs mirthlessly, glaring at her glass like this is all it’s fault, “I should have known what was going on but I was too fucking stupid to see it even though all the signs were _there._ He was never even into me, I don’t know why I even… I feel like someone’s pulled some big fat practical joke on me and it’s embarrassing. It’s _so_ embarrassing. I feel like an idiot. Like it’s my fault because I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Oh my God, it’s definitely not your—”

“I know it’s not my fault, I’m just _saying,”_ Astrid takes another gulp of water, letting it wash over her, cool her down. “I just feel shitty whenever I think about it.”

She makes her way back to the living room, where it’s warm and comfortable, where she can curl up on the couch for maybe half an hour before everyone starts to arrive. And she’s not even going to know anyone at this party, it’s a bunch of people from Ruff’s school that she’s somehow never met before, only heard of, and Ruff’s going to introduce her to some of her friends and she’s going to socialise and laugh and drink and play board games and not think about Eret.

“Then don’t think about it,” Ruff says as she sits beside her, as if she just read her mind. She offers her a can. Astrid takes it.

“What?”

“Don’t think about it, I guess,” Ruff shrugs. She takes a drink. “Forget him. Fuck him.”

“Yeah, fuck him.”

“Not literally, though.”

“I got that,” Astrid laughs and taps her can. She thinks of that guy again, tries to think of the name she can’t remember. She thinks it was a long name, but she’s not sure, he only mentioned it once. She wonders if she should tell Ruff about him. They could turn it into something giggly and insignificant.

But what happened doesn’t feel insignificant

“Maybe I’ll meet someone nice at this party and I can wash off Eret,” she says, because she doesn’t know what else to say and she doesn’t want the conversation to end on something bleak. Ruff whips her head towards her. “Did those words just come out of your mouth?” she asks as if that’s the most shocking thing she’s heard all year.

Astrid laughs again, shrugs a shoulder. “I mean, I’m joking but…”

“Because, _phew,_ now I don’t feel bad for setting you up with—”

Astrid freezes. “Wait, what? You’re setting me up with someone? What the _fuck.”_

Ruff laughs as sheepishly as she can, which isn’t very sheepish at all, and says, “Not really, but…I invited over that guy I was telling you about, remember? Snot’s cousin?”

Astrid gapes at her. Is she serious? She's serious. Holy shit. “Snot’s cousin? In what universe would I be interested in dating someone remotely related to Scott _fucking_ Jorgenson?”

“Oh, shit, did I not tell you he was…” Ruff’s face falls, and she lets her head fall back as she squeezes her eyes shut, squinting. “I forgot I didn’t tell you he was Snot’s cousin. I knew that would put you off.”

“No shit, Ruff!”

“But seriously,” she points at Astrid, her expression turning excited. This is not what Astrid needs right now, not at all, _nope._ “I meant what I said, you guys would be perfect! Give him a chance! He’s so _nice—”_

“If he’s so nice, date him yourself!”

Ruff splutters and shudders. “ _Ugh,_ no thank you, did I saw he was my type? Way too skinny. And scrawny. And I think I scare him.” She shakes her head as if she’s getting rid of some horrid mental image. “But he’s _exactly_ your type—”

“Yeah, because Eret was so skinny and scrawny?”

“I thought we made it clear that Eret is definitely not your type and you were never even into him.”

“I…” Astrid clicks her tongue. “I mean, yeah, good point.”

She’s taking a swig from her can when Ruff leans forward and says, “then give Hiccup a chance!” and Astrid chokes and nearly spits her beer all over the coffee table. She doubles over, coughing. Ruff pats her back, starting to laugh when she realises that Astrid’s laughing, too.

“His name—” she manages between coughs and laughs, “his name is Hiccup? What? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean—”

“Imagine— carrying a baby for— for nine months and then—” she wheezes, “fucking naming it  _Hiccup.”_

Ruff collapses on the couch, laughing too, clearly finding it difficult to get words out. “It’s- it’s a _nickname,_ dipshit!” Astrid just shrieks with laughter. She rolls off the edge of the couch, which makes Ruff laugh harder, which makes Astrid laugh harder, too. “It’s a nickname! Nobody— nobody names their son Hiccup, I— I’m fucking _crying—”_

“What’s his real name?” Astrid asks, propping an elbow on the sofa, shoulder still shaking with giggles.

“I don’t know, literally everyone just calls him Hiccup,” Ruff wipes tears from her face, her eyes smudged with runny mascara, “He told me Snot officially gave him the nickname when they were like, five, and it stuck.”

“This guy sounds like such a charmer,” Astrid bites her lip, but a giggle bursts out of her anyway, and then she’s lying on the floor again, guffawing, “Skinny, scrawny, hippy art student, related to Snot— of all people— and his name—” she shrieks again, feeling a lot giddier and light than she has in a long time, and she loves it, “is _Hiccup.”_

Ruff bursts out laughing again, wiping at her eyes because she’s laughing so much there’s tears streaming down her face. “I swear— no, listen—” she gasps, trying to catch her breath between her fits of laughter, “you’ll like him, I swear—”

"You're not really— not really selling this, I'll be honest—"

"yeah, you're right, I'm not," Ruff wheezes, holding onto the arm of the couch as if she's going to fall off it any second. "Since we're getting this out of the way, I might as well add— I'm pretty sure he's like, vegan, too—"

"This just gets  _better—"_

Ruff holds an arm out, trying to calm herself down, "no, but really,  _aside_ from all that—"

"Imagine dating someone named  _Hiccup,_ I can't—"

"You—"

“He must— must be great in bed, imagine he hiccoughs when he comes.”  

That’s when Ruff absolutely loses it. She collapses off the sofa and leans over on the floor, coughing and spluttering, and Astrid rolls on the floor in her mirth, laughing so hard her stomach hurts. It’s stupid and silly, but in between her bursts of laughter she finds herself so grateful that she can break away from everything and just laugh with friends about the most pointless, ridiculous things. She can have fun tonight, she knows she can. Tuff will be back soon with the guys, and she can talk to Fishlegs about whatever nerdy books she’s been reading recently that she hasn’t had a chance to talk about yet, and she can challenge Snot to an arm-wrestle because he owes her one, and she can convince Tuff to set up a game of drunk twister, and— and she can let go and have fun and forget.

Laugh and laugh and laugh until you forget why you were ever upset in the first place. She doesn’t do that often enough.


	3. hazy collision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drunk twister. that's all folks.

Every time the doorbell rings, Astrid finds herself hoping it’s someone she actually knows, because she’s really, really starting to need a sense of familiarity here. It wouldn’t be that bad if she wasn’t utterly lonesome, but she is. It wouldn’t be that bad if Ruff were with her, but she’s not. As soon as the house started getting crowded with people, and the music got loud and the lights dimmed, Ruff slipped away from her and went to join the newer, artsier students who filed into the house. Which… is fine, really, it’s her party and she’s not obliged to keep Astrid company the whole night, and Astrid’s never needed backup, but that doesn’t make it any less awkward when Astrid’s left stranded in the kitchen watching everyone talk to everyone else, because apparently everyone knows everyone. Except for her, of course.

She hasn’t been to a house party in ages and she forgets how to function in this environment, and God, no wonder Ruff inadvertently called her boring. She’s just leaning on the kitchen sink and half-heartedly sipping her drink, tapping her her fingers against the counter and trying to look as if this isn’t bothering her. Maybe if she gets buzzed enough she’ll get confident and uncaring enough to go dance with strangers in the next room, or something.

She’s deliberately nodding her head to the music when she looks up, and there’s a guy across the room catching her eye, giving her a look. She hasn’t flirted in so long. Well. She hasn’t flirted in so long if the events of last night are firmly excluded, which they are. She half wants this guy to sidle up to her and try something, so she has something to do, so she doesn’t look like she got lost and stumbled into the wrong party. She keeps eye contact for only a second before she sighs and slouches against the counter, clanking her teeth against her glass. She doesn’t want to go through a repeat of last night, when all it did was make her feelings even more mushy, and— and she can’t seem to forget it or get over it, for whatever reason, no matter how much she tells herself she wants to.

Astrid sweeps her eyes through the crowd in the kitchen before she slips through the door, wondering if the so-called Hiccup is at the party yet. What if that was him, the guy giving her that look? Or someone else? He could be any of these guys ambling through the hallway, and as unlikely as it is, now Astrid’s looking around as if he’s going to materialise out of nowhere and throw an arm around her shoulders.

She hopes Ruff told him not to come. Or at least, she hopes Ruff won’t make a big deal about it if he does show up. Neither of these options are likely, but she hopes she can at least get a warning if he does show up, so she can bolt for the bathroom and hide there for two to three hours.

She’s pushing through elbows and checking the ceiling and doorways for mistletoe — in case Ruff has any evil idea of her pushing her and some unsuspected guy under it, which she always does — when she spots the girl herself, dragging Fishlegs through the throng, and Astrid smiles with relief.

She catches up with them in the living room and pokes her head between them. “Hey.”

“Hey, Astrid!” Fishlegs smiles, kind and genuine and slightly wary as always.

Ruff puts an arm on Astrid’s shoulder and grins lopsidedly, and there’s absolutely nothing sober about it. Astrid plucks the glass of… whatever it is from Ruff’s hand. “Okay, that’s enough of that,” she says, reaching between bodies to place the glass on the dresser. Then, to Fishlegs, yelling over the music that’s pounding from the speakers, “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“What?”

“I said I haven’t see you in ages!” She pulls him into a half-hug, because next to Ruff he’s one of the closest friends she has, honestly, and she realises how little effort she’s made over the past couple of months. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know, fine,” he shrugs, “I haven’t really gone out in ages though, I think college is getting to me.”

“Ha, you and me both.”

“She hasn’t done anythin’ fun in ages,” Ruff slurs, gesturing to Astrid. “I’m… surprised I even got her to come over today.”

Fishlegs looks at Ruff’s swaying form for a moment and then casts a slightly worried glance at Astrid. “How is she already drunk? Didn’t the party only start an hour ago?”

“She started early.” Astrid pokes Ruff’s shoulder and the girl nearly falls back into the arms of someone behind her.

“Oh.”

“We were doing drunk baking.”

“Oh! What were you baking?”

“Can a’ve my drink back?” Ruff looks around wildly as if she’s only just realised it’s gone missing. Fishlegs bites his lip, trying not to laugh.

“Nope,” says Astrid as Ruff leans against Astrid’s arm. She pushes her away but ends up grabbing her when she looks like she’s going to literally topple over onto the rug. “You’ve had... way too much to drink for now.”

“Pah, you’re just jel… jealous ‘cause m’ahead of you.”

“It’s not a race,” Astrid rolls her eyes, but as she says it she squeezes her arm through the throng behind her and grabs Ruff’s glass again. She downs the rest of it. Ruff whines and tries to grab the empty glass anyway.

“So what’s been going on with you guys?” asks Fishlegs, the only completely sober one amongst a room full of half-inebriates, and Astrid feels a bit sorry for him. Ruff’s flailing in between them and the poor guy’s just trying to make conversation. “Hey, Astrid, did you finish that book I gave—”

“Eret cheated on Astrid.”

“Ruff!” Astrid whacks her on the arm. She whirls on her, glaring daggers. “What. The. Hell.”

“Ow,” Ruff pouts. She rubs her arm and looks baffled, looking between Astrid’s fuming face and Fishlegs’ confused one. “What? Was that supposed to be a secret?”

“Well— no but— it’s my business to tell—”

“Eret cheated on you?” Fishlegs puts a consoling hand on her arm, half to comfort her and half to hold her back if she tries to attack Ruff— even though they all know if she was furious enough to do that nobody would be able to hold her back and nobody should ever try. “What? Didn’t you guys break up a while ago.”

“Yeah, we did,” Astrid pushes his hand off her. “It turns out he was cheating on me, but whatever, it’s fine. I’m over it,” she spits the last part out pointedly at Ruff, who just blinks back at her. “And Ruff shouldn’t be going around telling people my freakin’ sob story, so please, stop.”

“That asshole,” she looks at Fishlegs and he looks sad, sympathetic, always understanding. “I’m so sorry, Astrid, that’s horrible.”

She waves a hand, tries not to scowl despite the fact she’s still fuming at Ruff and her incapability of keeping quiet. “Yeah, no it’s— thanks, Fish. I’m okay though, really.”

“Yeah, look, she’s fine,” Ruff sidles up to Fishlegs and ends up leaning on him, and he has to throw an arm out to steady her, going a noticeable shade of pink. Ruff gestures wildly to Astrid. “She’s soooooo over Eret, trust me, she’s gonna get all cosy with— hiccough— ha! Hiccup! That’s so funny—”

“Ruff!”

“D’you get it, I hiccoughed when I said his name—”

“Hiccup?” Fishlegs looks up in what could only be pleasant recognition. “Oh! He’s coming?”

And Fishlegs knows Hiccup too, because, of fucking course.

Astrid stares at him, just for a second, before closing her eyes and groaning. “Are you kidding me?” So is everyone in on this secret plan to set her sorry ass up with this guy? Does everything have to happen behind her back? “I— does everyone know him but me?”

“Oh, I mean,” Fishlegs wobbles slightly as Ruff leans on him, taking a second to adjust her grip on his shirt, “I mean, yeah, we’re friends. We go to the same college and we’re in some... clubs together? I knew Ruff met him at that life drawing course, but I didn’t realise they were friends?”

“Yeah, we’re not really,” Ruff mumbles into Fishlegs’ shirt. “Hm, you’re warm.” His face flushes again and he gently pushes her back with a nervous laugh, making her sway again.“Wah… was I saying?”

“Hiccup.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ruff nods far too vigorously. Astrid grabs her when she knocks heads with someone passing behind her who glares at her. “We’re not… really friends? I just invited ‘im because he’s nice and I knew Astrid would like… really like… him. A lot. Because she has a fetish. For gangly freckle-y guys.”

Astrid immediately slaps a hand over Ruff’s mouth, face flaming. “You. Are. Mortifying.”

“But it’s true—” her voice is muffled behind Astrid’s strong hand.

“I don’t have a— just stop talking.”

“Astrid’s gonna have some sweet, sweet vegan sex with—”

“Stop! Stop it!”

Fishlegs barks out a laugh, way too loud and nervous, and he puts his hands up as if he wants to drag them apart from each other but he’s scared of getting involved. “Um… so anyway, guys, I’m gonna…” he glances towards the door to the hallway, his grin almost a wince, “Yeah, I’m gonna go… grab a snack while you two... attack each other.”

As soon as he’s out of earshot— so, not very far away at all, because it’s a crowded party full of college students and there’s voices and music everywhere— Astrid shakes Ruff furiously. “You are mortifying!”

“You said that already.”

“Why would you even say the word _fetish_ in front of him, you know how weird he gets about stuff like that— and that’s his friend you were making sex jokes about, I…” she lets out a sigh that’s half a whine, “just drop it? Seriously? I can’t have fun if you’re just gonna keep going on about this.”

“I just wanna, _hiccough_ , help,” she mopes, “because you deserve someone really nice who would— treat you right.”

“Don’t get all mushy-feely-drunk on me, I’m trying to be mad at you.” Astrid sighs and lets go of her, and as Ruff rubs her arms, the doorbell rings. “And stop trying to set me up, I can choose my own relationships.”

Ruff snorts over her shoulder as she pushes through the crowd and makes her way to the front door, Astrid right behind her. She’s so unstable Astrid to hold a hand out and steady her. “Yeah, like you—” she burps, loudly and shamelessly, “— chose Eret? Because that turned out so well?”

Astrid frowns, holds back what she wants to say: that Ruff used to like Eret a lot more than she did, that initially, Ruff was painfully jealous when they started dating but instead of making Astrid feel bad for it, she encouraged her and told her to go for it.

She should stop thinking about Eret. It’s making her head hurt.

So instead her mind wanders to the stranger from last night, his smile popping into her head as Ruff unlocks the front door and opens it wide. Snot strolls in, yelling something about beer pong. Tuff slouches in behind. Ruff grins and takes a step back as the next person steps inside, someone tall and gangly and freckled.

Someone smiling apprehensively, someone wearing a baggy, green Christmas sweater and a scarf that looks _suspiciously_ familiar.

He steps into the hall, he steps right in front of her, too close, but she’s too busy gaping to take a step back. He looks down with a smile for a split second before it freezes on his face as his eyes meet hers and he realises who’s standing right in front of him.

And she remembers the colour of his eyes. They’re such a bright green she doesn’t know how she forgot them so quickly. They’re green and they’re as pretty as they were last night, they’re just as intense as they were the moment before he cupped her jaw and kissed her senseless. Those eyes are inches away from hers and Astrid looks into them for probably far too long. His mouth quirks. Her heart stutters.

No. _No._

“Hiccup!” cries Ruff, gesturing an arm to him as if he’s on display, some grand prize that Astrid’s being presented with that she didn’t ask for.

That blinks him out of his daze.

“Harry!” He corrects too loudly and quickly, blurting it out and earning himself a perplexed look from Ruff.

“Harry?” She shakes her head. She points at Astrid. “Uh, her name’s not Harry. It’s—”

“Astrid,” he says quickly, nodding. “I know, it’s—” He’s still looking at her and she’s still inches away from him and he cracks a smile that punches her in the stomach. He remembers her name. He remembers her fucking name and he’s looking at her like that and it’s like he’s...hopeful. “Hey, Astrid.”

And Astrid doesn’t say anything as she backs away, her movements jerky, and turns swiftly on her heel to march down the hallway, away from the guy she ran away from just that very morning.

 

* * *

 

  
The next hour or so goes as well as it could go. She releases herself from the upstairs bathroom when someone starts pounding on the locked door and yelling at her that they’re about to wet themself in the hallway. She passes an intoxicated couple against a wall and makes a noise of bitter disgust at their sloppy, showy make-out session. She joins a group of people she’s never met in the gaming room downstairs and steals their shots and she’s not sure how many she takes but she knows it’s enough to make them all cheer her on. The twins’ two rottweilers manage to escape the snowy backyard and bombard the kitchen, nearly knocking over half of the already unstable people there, and Astrid rubs their bellies and helps Tuff pull them back into the garden because some drunk girl won’t stop screeching. Tuff doesn’t bring up anything involving relationships or dating or hiccups and she’s wholly appreciative of the fact that he just, really, doesn’t give a shit about a lot of things.

Someone starts a game of beer pong in the kitchen and she plays along for about four minutes until Harry— Hiccup— fuck— that _guy_ walks into the room and she ducks behind the tall crowd and slinks into the living room, dodging Snotlout waving his fists around for whatever reason. She goes from room to room and slots herself in with strangers’ conversations and laughs and drinks and doesn’t let herself think about it. About the fact that he’s here and she’s here and this wasn’t supposed to happen, they were supposed to part ways, not speed towards each other and collide in the middle of a hazy college party.

And she doesn’t want anyone to know. Doesn’t want anyone to know about the fact that she felt something with him for a few hours and it was all a little too much. Doesn’t want anyone to know that her relationship must have messed her up enough to forget how to work around feelings.

Doesn’t want anyone to know she’s a coward who ran away.

Doesn’t want anyone to know she slept with a guy named Hiccup.

Fuck. She slept with a guy called Hiccup. That’s hilarious.

She snorts loudly when it hits her, earning a funny look from someone heading past her to the bathroom. She’s alone and laughing into her glass and she doesn’t care because this is all so very funny all of a sudden, and that’s probably because of the vodka. Or the beer. And, actually, if anyone can handle their drink, it’s Astrid, but maybe she’s trying to handle a bit too much right now, because the floor is starting to look comfortable and her head feels heavy.

And she’s spent the past hour wandering around miserable.

This sucks. She sighs and swings around to the stairs, spinning too fast and nearly careening sideways.

Snotlout’s sprawled on the floor spreading out two Twister mats when she strides into the living room and kicks off her hiking boots.

“Who’s playing?” She shoves her boots into a corner and looks purposefully at the group assembled around the mat. “Come on, take off your shoes, don’t you guys know the basic fucking rules.”

“Shit, she’s playing?” Snotlout shakes his head and whispers loudly to Ruff, “No, no, get her out, she’s too hot and flexible and it puts me off and always makes me lose.”

“You always lose because you’re shit at Twister.” Astrid cranes her neck from side to side and spots _him_ , hanging back a bit behind the small crowd, with his stupid green eyes and soft-looking jumper, and Astrid shoves her glass into his chest, too rough. “Hold this.”

She ran out on him. _She_ ran out on _him_. She shouldn’t be this furious with him and she doesn’t exactly know why she is.

He looks just as pissed as she does though, clutching her glass to his chest and twisting to look at her, that smile from last night non-existent and his frown is focused on her, and she tells herself that makes her feel better. She smirks at him before turning to look at the mat on the floor and tying her hair into a knot at the base of her neck. She shakes her arms out starts stretching her legs. (Snotlout gestures wildly at her. “See? This is unfair! That’s not fair!”)

She throws her arms above her head and _stretches_ determinedly. Hiccup looks away.

“Who’s referee?” she asks, and Tuff raises his hand and flips the spinner. “Right. Are we all ready— what the fuck, people, take off your shoes.”

They’re all gathered around the mat and it’s already too many people for a game of Twister, but she beckins at Hiccup anyway, her face stony. “Hey, Freckles,” she clicks her fingers and he flinches when he realises she’s boring her eyes into his. “Shoes. Off. Now.”

“I’m not playing.”

“Take your shoes off.”

“I’m not playing.”

She raises an eyebrow at a deathly angle. “We’re starting the game. Now. So take your shoes off.” Maybe she just wants him to play so she can have an excuse to accidentally kick him in the face. Okay, that’s not fair, she knows that’s not fair, but it still sounds like it would be satisfying. “Now.”

Her glass is still in his hand and he taps it, narrowing his eyes at her and refusing to break eye contact even though she’s been told many times that holding eye contact with her can be downright terrifying when she wants it to be. “I’m not taking my shoes off.”

Well, his surprising stubbornness is admirable.

Fishlegs peers into the room for a moment to see what’s going on, blurting out, “hey, guys!” before his eyes land on the expression on Astrid’s face and he takes a step back, getting the hell away from the danger zone. It’s a wise move and Hiccup should be taking notes. He’s still looking at her and not moving and either she’s not scaring him enough or he’s just very good at hiding it. Probably the former.

“If you’re not gonna take off your shoes,” says Astrid carefully, “you could at least take off my scarf.” That makes him falter. His eyes widen, he looks caught, and he yanks her scarf from his neck and throws it on the sofa. Ruff stares at the scarf, puzzlement on her face, before she dismisses it and shakes her head. Probably hoping to interrogate Astrid about it afterwards, but Astrid’s hoping she’s not sober enough to remember.

Ruff sticks a leg out to kick Hiccup’s foot and he flinches. “Come on, don’t be a sissy,” she drawls.

“Sissy!” Tuff yells, spinning the wheel and grinning. For some reason the twins decide to start chanting it at the top of their lungs, as if the bass-heavy music in the background wasn’t enough noise, and Hiccup goes quickly from stubborn to alarmed as they get louder. Astrid admits the twins yelling sissy at the top of their lungs probably isn’t the most mature way to convince someone to play a game of Drunk Twister, but she doesn’t try to stop them.

Snotlout does.

“Would you shut up?” He grabs the spinner from Tuff and shakes it in the air. “I’m trying to get in the zone here and you hyenas are screaming in my ear.”

“We, are simply, trying to get him into the holiday spirit,” Tuff says it like it’s obvious and Ruff nods and keeps yelling.

Astrid snorts, still staring at Hiccup and he hasn’t broken eye contact. And they’re the same eyes she stared into last night and that makes her stomach squeeze. “By calling him a sissy?”

“Yes.”

“I—” Hiccup’s eyes flit away from her, slightly sheepish. Ha. “Yeah, no, I don’t need any holiday spirit,” he shakes his head and lets out a laugh that’s awkward and fake.

Or is it fake? How would she know? Maybe he was fake-laughing last night, how is she supposed to know what his genuine laugh sounds like?

Why is she thinking about his laugh. Shut up, Astrid.

Snotlout holds the spinner in the air again, waving it to catch everyone’s attention. “Hello! Let’s start the game!”

Astrid shakes her head, determined. “No, not until Hiccup—”

“He’s not playing, he said he doesn’t want to play, did you not hear him? Get your ears checked maybe?”

“He is playing, he— hey, Freckles, get back here!”

“My name is Hiccup,” he rubs a hand over his face and sighs.

“I thought it was Harry?” Astrid tilts her head. Hiccup winces.

Astird continues to glare at him and nobody has anything to say for a good quarter of a minute, until Snotlout huffs and shoves the spinner forcefully at Tuff. “Here. Here. Oh my God. Let’s just start the game.”

Astrid knows she should let it go, she knows it’s been dragged on, but as Tuff stands and spins the wheel she bangs her fist against the floor and says, “Not until Hiccup takes off his shoes!”

“Jesus, Astrid!” Snot yells, “He doesn’t want to take his shoes off!”

“I don’t want to take my shoes off,” Hiccup repeats, nodding.

“Why do you even want him to play, he’s too thin and scrawny for this, he’ll get snapped in half or something!”

Hiccup nods even more enthusiastically, pointing at Snot. “Yes. Exactly what he said.”

“What?” Astrid scoffs. This is a losing battle but— well, she’s stubborn and tipsy, sue her, she’s going to finish what she started. Even if that means digging the hole deeper. “You just don’t want him to play because you’re scared to lose to your cousin.”

“Well you just want him to play so you can cosy up to him,” Ruff cackles, “Because, you know, Twister is a game full of convenient moments of… sexual tension—”

Astrid shoves a hand in her face.

“Okay, I’m out.” Hiccup shakes his head and flails his arm for some stupid reason and she would have found it endearing last night but right now she wants to shake him. She doesn’t even have a reason to, she’s just jumbled up inside and he seems like a good outlet for her frustration. He looks at the glass and hesitates for a split second before downing the rest of it.

“Hey!” She protests, but he’s already waving at her with a bitter smile and sauntering into the kitchen, where the music’s been turned up and everyone is cheering and dancing. He disappears in the throng and Astrid lets her hand fall from where it was smushed into Ruff’s face.

“What the hell was that about?” Snotlout yells.

“What was what about?”

Snotlout looks at her like she’s the idiot, and points towards the door Hiccup just walked out of. “Why were you so pissed at him?”

“Why do you care if I’m pissed at him?” Astrid frowns. It’s not like Snotlout to stick up for people. Or at least, she doesn’t think think it is. “I’m always pissed at you and you don’t care.”

“Because he has a thing,” Snotlout huffs. “It’s like— he’s a twerp and he’s annoying but he’s my cousin, and…” he leans forward conspiratorially, “he’s got a leg thing, alright?”

Astrid leans forward to, frowning even more. “A leg thing? The hell does that mean?”

“It’s a leg thing.”

“You really can’t get any more fucking elaborative than that.”

“I—” he throws his head back and groans. “Shut up, Astrid!”

“Just tell me what his deal is!”

“He doesn’t like talking about it!” Snotlout snaps. “And I’m not telling you because you look really angry with him so you’d probably just go give him shit for it.”

She purses her lips. That’s one of the least typical Snotlout things she’s ever heard him say, and that makes her feel like she should back off, just a little.

She glances up at the door and back to Snotlout, frowning. “I just... what—"

“Silence!” Tuff waves an arm in their faces as he stands up, spinner in hand. He holds it in the air and shakes it for attention. “We’re starting. Yeah? We’re starting? Excellent. Let the game begin! Ten bucks Astrid wins.”

Astrid wins. Twice. 


	4. something electrifying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't nsfw but it's... not exactly PG-13 either. just saying.
> 
> oh, and this month in camp nano, which means i'm setting myself a writing goal! i'm going to try to finish writing this fic once and for all, and then write out some of my stardust AU!!! happy nano, whoever's participating

 

It’s 2am. 

It's that time of the night when there’s a lull in the party, when too many pizzas have been ordered and probably too much alcohol has been consumed. People are collapsed on the sofas and chairs with their bellies full and Astrid ambles through the kitchen for another pizza slice, scrolling through her phone because she’s given up on trying not to look bored. She’s tempted to find an empty bed or chair or, hell, even a clearing on the floor so she could just sleep this day away altogether.

“You’re drinking water?”

Astrid jumps back when Ruff, her hair and lipstick a mess and it’s clear she’s just back from a makeout session with some unsuspecting partygoer. “Jesus, Ruff, don’t scream in my ear like that.” She takes a bite of pizza and gestures to her. “And you should probably also be drinking water.”

“Pfft, me? Drinking _water?_ While I’m still alive?”

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“So, I was talking to Hiccup,” Ruff announces, reaching past her to make a grab for the pizza, two slices in her hand at once. “Just there, like, two seconds ago—”

“Is that who you were sucking face with?”

“ _No,_  ugh, don’t even… insinuate that, it was… Katie? I think. Or Casie? I…” She pauses, pizza halfway to her mouth, eyes unfocusing. “What was I saying–”

“You made out with someone you can’t remember the name of and you also started talking to Hiccup.” Astrid pushes the pizza boxes away and sits on the tabletop, legs crossed comfortably. Ruff looks too far gone to function properly and Astrid should probably do something about that before the girl makes out with someone else she doesn’t know or does something even more stupid. The kind of stupid that Astrid did last night. But then, it’s different for Astrid, she seems to be the only one thinking too much about these things when people like Ruff are running around kissing strangers and not getting their feelings thrown around because of it. She sighs. “Seriously, you should lay off the drink.”

“So anyway, _Mom,”_ Ruff drawls through a mouth stuffed full of pepperoni, her words barely decipherable, “I was talkin’ to Hiccup? Yeah, and he was nice and like,  I think you two could hit it off, I really do.” She swallows too much and coughs and says, “He seemed pretty pissed when I mentioned you, though? I dunno why, but like, you should make it up to him. If you know what I _mean—”_

“Of course he’s pissed off, I basically yelled at him over a game of Twister,” Astrid picks at the threads in her ripped jeans, “I’m not apologising.” She wonders how he felt when he woke up and found the other half of his bed empty. She wonders if there was disappointment there.

That’s probably the reason he’s pissed, she very much doubts it’s because of the damn board game.

But so what? She reminds herself she doesn’t owe him anything, that it was just a fling and neither of them were making something important of it. And that means he has no right to be pissed at her. Even if she was being… a little bit slightly hostile.

An asshole, really. She feels like an asshole even though she tries not to feel anything at all.

“I think you should give him a chance,” Ruff shrugs. “For real. I wouldn’t be saying that if I didn’t mean it.”

“I don’t want to give him a chance!” Astrid snaps, “I don’t want to give anyone a chance!” She cringes as soon as she says it. Ruff just stares at her for a second before letting out a bark of laughter.

“Wow! That is both… severely depressing _and_ stubborn!”

Astrid huffs, embarrassed, and takes an angry bite of pizza. Maybe if she chews aggressively enough she won’t have to talk. Ruff hooks an arm through hers and pulls her off the table, leading her away from the kitchen with wobbly, drunken steps. “Where are we going,” Astrid mutters around another bite.

Ruff takes a second to answer, spinning around with Astrid glued to her side. She cranes her neck like she’s looking for someone. “It was, uh, too loud in there.”

Astrid’s taking another huge bite of pizza – half of the slice, really – when Ruff pulls on her elbow and spins her around, and she comes face-to-face with— _oh, what a surprise_ — Hiccup. She nearly chokes on her pepperoni at the closeness of him.

“Hey, Hiccup!” Ruff yells, as if they just happened to bump into him and she hadn’t been standing on her tippy toes a few seconds ago trying to spot him in the crowd.

“Hi! Hey,” he blurts. He won’t look at Astrid and she’s glad because her mouth is still chipmunk-stuffed with pizza and there’s probably tomato sauce on her lips. She covers her mouth, cheeks flaming.

“How’s the party?” Ruff asks, shoving Astrid’s arm away from her and in turn shoving her closer to Hiccup. Astrid looks away and he takes a step back further and she tries to swallow the food in her mouth that’s quickly turned to cardboard.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, it’s a great party,” he says, and Astrid takes a peek at him. He’s nodding too much. He looks like he’s in pain, he should stop. He meets her eye and she pretends to look at the framed photographs on the wall behind him, trying her best to swallow her food as calmy as she can. “And your friends are really nice, too, I’m glad I got to meet them.” She swears his eyes land on her.

Astrid frowns. Is that a dig? That feels like a dig.

He starts walking backwards towards the kitchen, hands in his pockets and twitchy like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. “There’s still food leftover, right?”

Ruff follows him, shoving Astrid with her.

Astrid wipes her face and folds her arms, following Ruff reluctantly. “There’s nothing vegan,” she mutters.

Hiccup reaches for the last slice of pizza and frowns at her. “What?”

Ruff shakes her head sadly and tries to pluck the slice from his hand. “She’s right, dude, you’re just gonna have to hand it over to… _me,”_ she reaches for it despite the fact that she’s already holding two slices and Hiccup yelps when she grabs his arm. “You should thank me, honestly, I’m doing you a favour—”

Hiccup tries to hold the food out of her reach, frowning. “I’m not vegan, what, why are you attacking me—”

“It’s for the best, hand over the pizza—

“But I— ow! Don’t hit me!”

It’s really, really tempting for Astrid to sneak away while she watches Ruff try to drunkenly get him in a headlock. It’s so tempting. Helooks hilariously scared and he shrieks when she makes a jab at his stomach, nearly knocking him flying.

But still, absolutely nobody deserves to be assaulted by a drunk, junk-food-desperate Ruff, and his face looks like the sort of pathetic that’s actually sad, so she sighs and steps in between them. She wrangles Ruff’s arms away from him and holds them in place, facing away from Hiccup, her back against his.

“Leave the guy alone. You have two slices in your hand, you idiot.”

Ruff looks at the hand that’s holding the now mangled pizza and snorts. “Oh, yeah, oops.”

“She gets violent about food,” Astrid explains, looking over her shoulder at him, forgetting herself. “Trust me, don’t try to take the last slice in front of her again, if she was sober you’d get your face clawed off.”

“Noted.” He laughs and she feels it against her back.“It’s nothing new though, she’s not the first food-thief I’ve dealt with.”

He’s talking about last night, how she stole his fries at the bar and he he pretended to bat her hands away, laughing.

She jerks away in a panic and huffs a fake laugh. “I— yeah.” He shouldn’t be bringing that up in front of anyone. Even if nobody else knows what he’s talking about, she doesn’t want any of it mentioned.

They chew their food and she just stands there with her arms folded and it’s awkward. She should be reaching for something to say but she doesn’t want to have to say anything and God, he’s looking at her and his expression looks…

Amused? Is he trying not to laugh? Because the thought of his laugh just makes her mood more sour.

Ruff is too preoccupied with peeling the cheese off her pizza to notice either of them, and Hiccup keeps glancing at her like there’s some inside joke they’re sharing and, fuck, it’s all so awkward.

“You’re very talkative,” says Hiccup.

Astrid taps her foot against the leg of one of the kitchen chairs.“I don’t have anything to say.”

“Funny, I thought you’d have a lot to say.”

“I would fuck this pizza.” Ruff declares, eyes on the greasy slice in her hand.

Astrid sighs. “Ruff. You need to stop telling people that.” She gives Hiccup a sideways glance and scratches her nose. “Ignore here, that’s… that’s how she acts even when sober.”

“Trust me, I’m used to it, I’ve been stuck in that life drawing course with her for six weeks.”

She glances at him and he’s still giving her that almost funny look and Ruff licks sauce off her fingers and says, “You know what, I just remembered I need to go…” she pauses for a few seconds, very clearly trying to think of an excuse and Astrid groans, “I have to go pee! Right now! So. I’ll leave you two to it.”

She mouths _you're welcome_ before she saunters away and it’s impossible to tell if it’s supposed to be directed at Astrid or Hiccup.

And then it’s just the two of them and the room’s not as loud as it was before.

“This party’s nice?” He says eventually, after a few seconds of the both of them pretending not to look at each other.

“Yeah. It’s fine. Very Christmassy.”

“Just the right amount of Christmassy,” he coughs. “Because it’s easy to go overboard and just, you know, vomit tinsel everywhere and blast Michael Bublé but, uh, this party is…” he jostles his arm, pursing his lips like he’s looking for words. “It’s just… a healthy balance. Just the right amount… of Christmas… Christmas-ness.” He doesn’t even try to hide his cringe at himself, and Astrid snorts and stares at the floor.

“Right.”

She kicks her boot on the tile. He clears his throat.

“I kind of hoped we’d get to talk.”

She pops her hip and looks at him with a sigh. “About what.”

“About— about last night, what else would I be—”

“Keep your voice down.”  She looks over her shoulder like she’s going to find someone wielding a camera and microphone in their faces, “I don’t… I don’t see what there is to talk about, can we not just forget about it? Forget about it and pretend it never happened, maybe? Especially considering we have so many mutual friends I didn’t know about.” She frowns. “Did you know I’d be here? When you slept… when we were... together last night, did you recognise my name and know I was Ruff’s friend?”

He shakes his head. “What? No, I didn’t know. She never told me your name, she just kept telling me she had a friend she wanted me to meet.” He rubs the back of his neck a bit sheepishly, “I mean, honestly I’m not sure I would have come if I’d known you’d be here.”

She snorts. “Yeah. Same.”

“I’d have a reason, though,” he says quietly, “I mean, you’re the one who ran out on me.”

“I—” she glares at the table for a moment before turning it on him. “That’s not… It’s not a big deal.”

He tilts his head, giving her a look she doesn’t really like. It’s almost assessing. “Why are you being so mean about this?” he asks, and she hates the fact that he looks more disappointed than angry. It feels closer to home, like she got close enough to him to actually hurt him. She clenches her jaw and he flails an arm in the air and gestures to her. “You— you’re in no place to be angry at me, I mean, I don’t… what did I do wrong? We just— we slept together and I thought we had fun but now you’re acting like I disgust you or something.”

“That’s so melodramatic,” she scoffs, “I’m not acting like you _disgust_ me—”

“Well, you’re being pretty fucking standoffish,” he mutters.

Astrid curls her hand into a fist at her side, digging into the denim of her jeans. She wants to move, she wants to punch something or grab something instead of standing here pretending this is a civil conversation. She thinks briefly about grabbing him. That’s a bad idea.

“I thought we… I don’t know, I thought we got along and we could, we could make something out of last night,” he says quickly, licking his lips. “I thought you wanted that too, I… I thought we were on the same page.”

She exhales through her nose and lets out a sharp, harsh laugh, shaking her head, barely meeting his eyes. She can’t meet his eyes as she says it. “Oh, well, you fucking thought wrong then, buddy.”

“What?”

“What?” She snaps. “Did you seriously think something important happened to us last night? Really?” She can practically see him deflate as she says it. “It was just a fling, Harry— Hiccup. Whatever your fucking name is. It was a fling and I’m already over it and you should be too, this is sad.”

“It wasn’t a fling for me!” He says, too loud and high and bordering on hysterical, and she swats his arm to shush him. “Sorry– It wasn’t— it wasn’t a fling, you said so yourself, last night, you said you never do things like that—”

“I was just saying that—”

“It was more than just some fucking one night stand,” he shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched and again, she thinks of grabbing him. It would be easy. She shouldn’t. “And you just, you just ran away! Not even a goodbye, you just snuck off after what happened—”

“Oh, _boo hoo,_ you slept with a girl and she didn’t immediately want to like, marry you, get over it—”

“Come on, don’t lie to yourself, Astrid,” his voice is low and he’s somehow gotten closer and she doesn’t remember when that happened, but she’s close enough to register that he smells good. “You felt something too—”

“I did _not!”_ She nearly yells and that’s when she remembers there are people milling around and giving them looks. She bites her lip and looks around, catching the glances of a few strangers. People laughing awkwardly and trying not to show it.

She’s glad Ruff’s not in the room, she doesn’t want to have to explain this argument to her. Hey, I’m arguing with your friend from some Art Class over the fact that we had sex last night!

That wouldn’t go well. It’s best to keep this quiet. Which is pretty hard right now because her chest is tight and she wants to shout or scream.

“You need to get over this,” she hisses, slowly walking away from the table and making her way out of the room. She expects him to follow and he does. “It’s not a big deal, people sleep with each other all the time and they just— they move on and forget about it!”

“You’re saying that like you’re trying to convince _yourself_ it’s true,” he snaps, and she whirls on him, walking backwards so she can scowl at him chest-to-chest. “I don’t know why you’re bothering to lie about this, it’s pretty obvious last night was more than just... _that_ —”

“Shut up!” She reaches behind her for the handle of the pantry door and pushes it open, pulling him into where it’s quiet and empty, where they can maybe talk without worrying about witnesses, where they can maybe have a civil and polite discussion about this. She slams the door shut behind him and she sees his face and realises now that he’s almost as angry at her. Good. She needs that.

“It’s true! I’m just— it was more than that, it was something _important_ , I know you–” he shakes his head, groaning. “No, forget it, that’s not the point– the point is you ran out on me and all night you’ve been acting like I did something wrong to _you_ , which I didn’t–”

“Would you just— just shut up! Get the fuck over it!” She shouts in his face, too close, backing him up against the door and she can smell him and feel how warm he is in the space between them.

“I don’t _want_ go get over it!” He yells, and she kisses him, mouth open and furious.

Her heart thunders in her chest. Her hands are fisted at her sides. This is a bad idea and she doesn’t even know what she’s doing, doesn’t know what she’s thinking, only that her insides are twisted all over the place and she’s furious, she’s so furious and she can’t pinpoint why.

For a second or two, he’s frozen, just standing there and letting her do it, and she wonders if he’ll push her away. That’s the smart move.

He doesn’t.

He kisses her back and she was right, it’s just as angry. It’s harsh and rough and their teeth clack together in a way they didn’t last night, and everything’s different. Last night was something gentle, something tender, but now her hands fly up to his face and cup his neck too roughly, nails scraping, breathing heavy. His hands find her hips and pull her flush against him, his grip rough and pressing into her almost too hard and it’s slightly thrilling, she thinks, as she tilts her head and deepens their kiss even more. She pushes him against the door as she kisses him, and she keeps kissing him and kissing him and kissing him as if this is her new method of fighting.

If she can’t punch something, then at least this is a way to pour out her frustration. He’s been in her head all day, making her dizzy and confused, making her itch for something more than what she’s used to. And this… making out with people she hardly knows at Christmas parties isn’t the kind of thing she’s used to, it’s anything but what she’s used to, but she needs that thrill, she needs to feel like she’s doing something drastic, something electrifying.

This, this is electrifying.

His hands don’t hesitate at the edge of her knitted sweater, like he knows this isn’t something intimate and special, he knows it’s something much more straightforward than that. It’s almost aggressive, the way his hands quickly slide under her clothes and press into her bare back, and her fingers dig into his shoulder. He smoothes a hand down her spine and slips his tongue behind her teeth and she makes a low, throaty noise, sliding her hand down his arm and squeezing it beneath his stupid baggy jumper that’s getting in her way. His skin is hot to the touch and she knows hers is too, she knows she’s red-faced and running out of breath, and her heart is thundering in her chest and she can feel his, too. She’s almost sweating and his mouth is warm and wet against hers and it’s overwhelming, all of it, all of this. It’s overwhelming and exciting and reckless and she doesn’t know how to feel.

So she starts to inch up his sweater.

He groans when her hand slips under the wool and trails up his bare chest, his skin so hot under her palm. And her other hand scratches at his back, fingernails digging in, impatient. He’s kissing at her neck and at her ear and his hands are sliding over her hips, at her sides, constantly moving like he’s trying not to let an inch go untouched. She huffs against his cheek and grabs one of his hands, pushing it up to her chest. Better. And when his thumb circles her nipple through her bra and his lips find hers so she can moan into his mouth, that’s better, too.

It reaches a point where she doesn’t know how long they’ve been here. She’s lost track of time, but mostly, she’s lost track of rational thought. She wonders if he’d stop her if she started pulling his clothes off him. Because hands searching under clothes just isn’t enough, and the image of tossing his jumper over her head and feeling his skin against hers is vivid, and it’s exciting.

She just wants to feel him again.

“Is this okay?” He whispers, mouth at her ear.

Why wouldn’t it be okay? She kisses his jaw, almost determinedly, hoping to stay in this hazy world for as long as possible. Hoping to block out reality. She convinces herself it’s working as his hands slide slightly under jeans, as he grips her hips. He spins them around and she feels the counter meet her lower back. When he kisses her, she feels his weight against her, overwhelming and warm. And she feels a hardness against her thigh, too, and that’s what brings reality crashing down on top of her.

What the hell is she doing?

With a burst of panic, she gets her arms in front of her and she shoves, sending him stumbling back and nearly slipping on his foot. She pushes herself away too, away from the counter, edging to the side and holding her hands up— that the same placating move he tried on her only a few hours ago— and he stares at her. His cheeks are flushed. His sweater’s crooked. His eyes are wide as he chokes out, “did I do something—”

“Sorry,” she cuts him off. “I mean you didn’t… I just can’t— I’m sorry.”


End file.
